My Angry Valentine
by Professor Maka
Summary: Spartoi is on a mission to get our favorite death scythe to finally make a move on his meister for Valentine's Day. Will they succeed? Cracktastic SoMa fluff with a heaping helping of Black*Star and a side of Spartoi. Now a collection. In the latest, "The Valentine," Maka gets an anonymous Valentine in her locker and decides to find out who sent it. Complete fluff eater.
1. My Angry Valentine

** A/N: This is cracky and fluffy SoMa, with a heaping helping of Black*Star and a side of Spartoi. The last section has an odd frame set up that may make it a bit confusing, but I think I've managed to keep it in line. Happy Cheesy Commercial Love Day!**

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><p>The question of what to get his not-girlfriend for this hyper commercial pseudo-holiday was becoming a real problem. For years, Soul had simply gotten her nothing. After all, Maka wasn't his girl and he hated the cheesy so-called lover's holiday anyway, so why would he bother? But, dense as he could be, even he had noticed that his meister looked increasingly disappointed each year he did nothing, so last year, he had finally taken her cue to quietly show his appreciation.<p>

Because Maka had _never_ just ignored the holiday. Oh, she didn't talk about it, and they tended to make fun of the whole idea of Valentine's Day together, but every year, his favorite sweets would magically appear on the kitchen counter just on that day, his favorite meals would be prepared, and a new cd of something he liked would mysteriously end up on his desk. At first, he'd thought it a fluke—that Maka just _happened_ to buy some candy that day, just _happened_ to make some of the things he most liked, that he must have bought the CD himself and forgotten. Then it happened the next year, and then the next, and eventually, he put two and two together and decided he should probably do the something for her. So last year, he just _happened_ to bake red velvet cupcakes—her favorite—and leave them on the counter just before bed the night before Valentine's Day. Then, he just_happened _to get up early and make her breakfast as he did every so often, And he_just happened_ to fill her iPod full of new music he knew she'd like and leave it on her desk, where the next book in the series she was reading also just _happened_ to appear. For the first time he could remember, Maka seemed really happy that Valentine's Day, and he couldn't help but to feel a little proud he'd finally caught on and gotten it right.

Soul had been all set to do the same this year, all set to repeat those small, quiet gestures, when Black*Star forced his hand. It happened when the death scythe stopped at his locker for a forgotten notebook; since Maka had been all over his ass about needing to take notes lately, it made life easier if he looked the part, even if most of the time he was really just doodling crappy music. The blue-haired meister had clapped a hand on his back just as Soul shut his locker, effectively cornering the surprised scythe.

"So, dude, watcha doin' for Maka for the big day?"

"Wha?" Soul raised both eyebrows in surprise before reschooling his face into practiced boredom, shaking his head. "I have no idea what the fuck you're talking about."

"Valentine's Day, bro," Black*Star rolled his eyes as if he were patiently dealing with the biggest moron on the planet. Soul just shrugged and ignored him. Black*Star might be his 'bro,' but he could also be an annoying, nosy pain in the ass. No, scratch that, he was almost always an annoying pain in the ass, he just wasn't always this nosy. Why the fuck did he care?

"Dude—hello? Don't tell me you forgot to get her something—"

"Why the fuck—" Soul cut him off when it was clear that the assasin wasn't going to drop this idiotic line of questioning "—would I get anything for Maka for Valentine's day? She's my meister, not my girlfriend."

"Seriously?" the other boy scoffed with a shake of his own head. "Look, man, I know you aren't from around here, but you've lived here now, what, five years? More? All this time and you never realized that partners _always_ do shit for each other on Valentine's day? Look, maybe out among the peasants," the meister waved his hand vaguely around, "they care about love or whatever the fuck, but around here, there's nothing more important than your partner, catch me? I mean, jeezus fuck, does that mean all this time you and Maka have been partners you've_never_ done anything for her on Valentine's day? No wonder she's so damned grumpy. You're a fuckin' moron, dude, straight up."

"Fuck," was all Soul could manage. Was that really—true? Had he really fucked this up for so long? Maka had always done little things, and frankly, he couldn't be arsed to pay much attention to what other people did on such a ridiculously commercial holiday. "Fuck," he repeated, putting his head in his hands. If Black*Star was schooling him on how to treat your partner, he really was an idiot.

"Soul, bro!" Black*Star clapped him on the back again in a gesture of solidarity. "Your god's got your back. It'll be fine. You just make it up this year, make the big gesture, show 'er you know you fucked up, ya know?"

"Don't people do _anything_ normal in this death damned place?" Soul groaned. "I mean, I get dozens of fucking valentines shoved into my fucking locker every damned year…"

Black*Star waved a hand. "Oh, yeah, people do that sappy love shit, too, but everyone does something for their meister or weapon. Like, this year, Kid is taking the girls to Cancun. Harvar's getting Ox that ereader he's been wanting, I'm making my goddess a special dinner and ta—"

"But you and Tsubaki are together," Soul scoffed.

"I'd do it even if we weren't," Black*Star assured him; the way he sounded like he was talking down a wayward child made the normally calm death scythe feel like punching something, preferably his friend's face. He clenched a fist but stilled the uncool impulse.

"Shit, even Kilik is getting the twins passes to Disney. _Everyone_ does shit for their partner. And now, you gotta do something _good _because you've totally screwed the pooch until now." The assassin tapped his chin thoughtfully. Black*Star so rarely did thoughtful that it was starting to make the other boy nervous—on top of anxious, and guilty, and the myriad of other emotions that this entire ordeal was forcing on him.

It was far too quiet, with the blue haired would-be god actually _thinking_ for once, and the halls so empty. So. Empty. Wait…

"Fuck!" The scythe exclaimed yet again. "We gotta go, we're late, and Maka's gonna k—"

"What?" Star looked around for a moment and shrugged. "Yeah, I guess she is gonna be pissed. Well, I'm sure you'll figure it out, man." Soul had already started walking, but Black*Star was still standing near the lockers—likely ditching again. Soul didn't have time to do anything about it; since Maka really was going to kill him for being late again, actual ditching was not an option.

His head full of his encounter with Star, Soul hurried off to class feeling every way totally fucked.

A few hours, and a healthy Maka chop later, the scythe was in his room, listening to loud music and pondering his current predicament. There were many problems with this situation, not the least of which was that he actually was in love with his meister and had been for years; she just didn't seem to return the sentiment. In truth, cheesy and commercial as the holiday was, he would gladly sacrifice his dignity on the altar of all things sappy and ridiculous, would immediately give up his cool card if it would make her happy, would set up his own altar to cheese and commercial crappola if it meant she loved him too and would consent to be with him.

This meant that navigating his current situation was tricky. Very tricky. How did one scream appreciation from the rooftops without it looking like love, even if love was really what it meant? How did one do Valentine's Day without—well—_doing Valentine's Day?_

Part of him just wanted to tell Black*Star to shove off, to do what he'd done last year, mirror his meister's subtle gestures, and call it a day. It seemed so much more _them._ At the same time, if he'd been fucking up for so long and so many people were doing such big things, wouldn't it just highlight what a crappy weapon partner he'd been about this? Fuck, he wished he could ask Maka, but she was the _one_ person he couldn't ask and it made him want to tear his hair out.

Two days. He had two days until this stupid cheesefest would commence. Two days to figure out how the fuck to make up for years of having had his head up his ass about Death City traditions. Fuckity fuck fuck.

So he couldn't ask Maka. Maybe someone else? Star? No, fuck Star. He'd just tell him to do something godly or whatever the fuck. Kid? Kid might give him good advice. Then again, he might tell him to do something symmetrical—Kid was always a crap shoot. Liz and Patti were out; they'd read too much into it, Death City tradition or not. Actually, _everyone_ was likely to read too much into it if they knew, which he didn't exactly mind, but really, it was also none of their damned business and he was pretty sure Maka would mind a hell of a lot if more rumors about them started flying. He could ask Tsubaki, but Tsubaki told Star everything and he really didn't want to give that blue-haired asshole any more reason to give him shit. Besides, he _knew_ what Tsubaki would say: _you know her best, Soul-kun. You're her weapon. What do _you_ think she would want?_

That was the question of the day, wasn't it? And the thing was, he _should _know. He was her weapon; he spent half his time in her head and almost all of his time in her presence. But what that told him was that Maka wasn't a creature of the grand gesture, but of more subtle things, smaller gestures. Maybe he could put some of those smaller things together to make a big thing, the whole being as great as the sum of its parts? That was a start. What were things Maka liked him to do for her?

Play piano. She loved it when he played, and he'd done that more often since everything on the moon, but still not enough for her tastes, and certainly not just for her. Okay, play piano, he could do that. Dress up. Maka was always telling him he should dress up more, wasn't she? To look nice and do something different? He could do that, too. There were several things he didn't necessarily like to do that she wanted him to do, now that he thought on it. Maybe he could make this work… yeah… he could definitely make this work. And suddenly, happily, Soul had a plan. Two days would be plenty of time and finally, this year, he wouldn't look like a total fuck up.

—

Honestly, the world had gone mad. Maka was about to start scanning for Asura again because everyone had gone bloody crazy this year. Kid taking Liz and Patti to Cancun? Kilik taking the twins to Disneyland? Harvar getting Ox a freaking eReader and Ox getting Harvar new Ray Bans? Jackie taking Kim to Vegas overnight for dinner and dancing? Since _when_ did people do this sort of over the top crap on Valentine's Day for their _friends?_ Okay, so maybe Jackie had unrequited feelings of more than friendship for her meister, and maybe Ox was fairly pissed about these plans, but even still… the very fact that Jackie's plans for Kim had trumped Ox's was mind boggling. It was out of hand, and Maka had no idea what people were thinking, but, preferring not to get in the middle of—well—whatever this utter craziness was, she remained silent and watched with some mixture of amusement and skepticism.

At least the school day was almost over and she could go home with Soul and they could relax together and bemoan the ridiculousness of the entire mess. Maka had already done the small things she liked to do for him—the type of things friends did for friends on a day like this, quiet reminders that he was important to her—and had only left to make him fish for dinner. She made a face at the thought, the idea of stomaching fish for him somewhat nauseating, when she felt a pencil poke at her arm.

"Oi, what's crawled up your ass and died?" He had his head resting on one arm, one startlingly red eye cracked open and gazing her way lazily.

"Nothing," she swatted his arm, the one with the pencil, playfully. "Just thinking about dinner." She expected him to give her a hard time. She didn't expect him to sit up, scratch the back of his head, and look sheepish.

"'Bout that. I made plans."

"You made…plans? What type of—"

"I left some clothes in your locker. Just, change and meet me at our balcony after school, yeah?" He was unsure, nervous, she could feel it in his wavelength, yet he had on that unflappable mask of boredom.

"Soul…" her tone was a warning. This felt all wrong and she wanted to know what was going on.

"Just trust me, okay? Please?" The bored mask had shattered, replaced by something like pleading.

"Oh…okay," she said, too surprised by the shift, the oddity of his behavior, to keep up the argument.

"Great," he said, his mouth turning up into that soft smile, rare and wonderful, that made her feel weak in the knees, before his face reformed into his default look of boredom. An instant later, his head was back on his arm and his eyes were closed again. Maka shifted her gaze to the front where Stein was still busy taking apart a dove since, as he had put it, "this day is about love, and a dove is _the_ symbol of love." Only Stein.

She let her eyes stray once again to the boy dozing next to her. Apparently, the crazy now extended to her weapon. What the hell was up with this place today? Was there something in the water? Since _when_ did her weapon make plans for them _on Valentine's Day?_ Hell, up until last year, the boy had basically ignored the existence of the whole thing with the exception of the occasional snark and their now yearly tradition of watching the cheesiest romcom they could dig up to play MST3K. And now, suddenly, her perennially apathetic weapon had _plans?_ For_them_ no less?

Death's balls, it made no sense, no sense at all. It couldn't be _romantic_. Her partner had made it crystal clear from the time they were adolescents that he was never going to be interested in her _that way_,and if Maka maybe had such feelings herself, feelings that left her breathless, feelings that scared the living hell out of her, well, she'd gotten very, very good at stuffing them down into the deepest, darkest recesses of her soul where he would never, never find them. And anyway, Kilik certainly had no romantic intentions towards the twins, Kid was about as romantic as a toaster, and Ox was into Kim, not his weapon, so there was no way all of this was about romance. She just wished she was in on the joke, whatever it was. She hated, really hated, feeling so desperately out of the loop. The scythe meister was tempted to ask Tsubaki what the hell was going on, but she loathed admitting that she didn't have all the answers, and besides, Tsubaki and Black*Star were the one pair who had any business doing all this big gesture love day garbage in the first place, so the shadow weapon might not actually _know._

Maka blew her bangs up out of her face in frustration, causing Soul to crack open an eye again. She ignored him, and he closed it again. She'd figure it out soon enough, because Soul was going to tell her what the heck was going on if it killed them _both, _she'd make sure of it.

When Soul rushed off after their last class, she couldn't be surprised—he _had_warned her. Maka slowly made her way to her locker, removed the bag her partner had left for her, and then walked to the girl's locker room to change. She had no clue what this was about, not really, but she'd agreed to meet her weapon and she wasn't going to find out just _what in the seven layers of hell was going on_without going through the motions.

What _did_ surprise the scythe meister was what she found in the bag. It was a dark green dress, strapless, short, and dressy, and a pair of fancy black heels, along with a small jewelry box that contained a little gold necklace with angel wings. Had Soul _bought_ all of this? She certainly didn't recognize any of it! _What in Death's name?_ Soul really _had_ gone crazy, clearly. Confused and beyond irritated at feeling so in the dark, Maka quickly donned the dress, shoes, and necklace and, deciding to play along, undid her pigtails to brush out her hair, tying a small amount up in back with one of the black silken ribbons she'd worn to school that day. She inspected herself in the floor length mirror critically. The dress was fit and flair and highlighted her modest curves in such a way that made her look, well, pretty damned good, actually. She'd sort of known Soul had good taste in women's clothes from the black room, but to see it materialize in everyday life still floored her. The heels gave her an inch, and accentuated her legs, and her hair actually looked nice, considering. She was fit to be seen, anyway, which was all that really mattered. She pulled the little lipgloss she always carried out of her bag and applied it, and, satisfied, returned to her locker to stash her book bag and the bag Soul had left. The halls were nearly empty because most people had rushed home to do their own Valentine's Day penance, but there were a few stragglers, and she got more than a few second looks and raised eyebrows. Well, let them look; all Maka wanted was to get to the bottom of this nonsense so that she and her weapon could both get on with their lives.

—

To say that six people, a laptop, and several portable monitors all crammed into a utility closet was a tight squeeze was a drastic understatement. None of them was willing to leave, however, especially when the show was just about to start; Soul was long since in place, and Black*Star had assured them that Maka was on her way to the balcony when he had arrived just a minute ago. Most of the group was huddled around the screens eagerly, watching a sharply dressed but nervous looking Soul pace in front of a fully set and stocked table and chairs, the camera microphone just picking up his quiet humming of bits of Moonlight Sonata. All but Kid, who looked extremely uncomfortable pressed against the door behind the taller of his two weapons, but who also seemed unwilling to actually leave, and Tsubaki, who had backed herself into the corner opposite Kid and was twiddling with the end of her hair nervously.

"Are you…sure we should be doing this?" she finally asked, addressing the backs of her friends.

"Shhhhh!" was the nearly universal reply.

"But…don't they deserve…"

"Look," Liz whirled on her, one hand cocked on a hip, her elbow inadvertently finding Patti's stomach in the confined space, who grunted her discomfort. "We've, all of us, been waiting, and waiting, and WAITING for those two to catch a clue. I don't know about you, but now that we put together this whole ridiculously elaborate load of bullshit to get loverboy down there to make a move, there is no way in _hell_ I'm gonna miss the fireworks. So either leave or pipe down and enjoy the show, will ya Tsu?"

"Mmm… I…" The hair twiddling continued for a moment before Black*Star grabbed his weapon's hand and pulled her close to his side.

"They'll never know, and really, if any of us goes now, Maka might notice. It'll be fine, Tsubaki. Trust your god." He flashed her that cheesy grin that always somehow managed to melt her heart, and she nodded.

"I guess…" She still looked uncertain, but stopped twiddling her hair in favor of holding her meister/boyfriend's hand. She really _did_ want to see what happened, she just felt like a bad friend for misleading both of the death scythe and his meister so badly. Well, hopefully, everything would work out and it wouldn't matter. Hopefully.

Suddenly, the click of high heels was heard from the speakers and everyone's attention snapped to the center screen. Soul's eyes had moved up, and he had a slightly openmouthed look of surprise, his gaze fixed on something a few feet away, before his jaw snapped shut and the object came into view. The object was a person, and that person was Maka, who looked good if the "huh" from Black*Star and lowly muttered "dayum" from Kilik were any indication.

"Did Maka-chan buy that for—" Tsubaki was surprised her friend would dress up in quite that way for this sort of meeting.

"Nah, Soul did it. Dude knows his shit, too. I wanted to jump down and revoke his man card the whole time I tailed him, but damn son, looks like he did alright."

Everyone threw the assassin a look, including his weapon, but he just shrugged.

"What? So tiny tits cleans up nice. Any fuckin' moron could tell you that. Now, shhh…shit's about to get real."

Maka had finally crossed the space to stand in front of her weapon, uncomfortable enough in heels that the movement had been slow going. She put both hands on her hips as she glanced over at the laden, candlelit table, and then back at him.

"Soul? What..is all this?" She sounded unsure.

"Um, well—why don't you sit down?" Soul scratched the back of his neck nervously. "There's food, and, uh—" he blinked down at her, at her mouth as it flattened into a thin line. "Oh hell, Maka, just calm down and sit, would you?"

The group in the little room watched on the monitor as Maka huffed, shook her head, but complied, crossing to sit on one of the two fancy little chairs Soul had dug up from Shinigami knew where. Soul trotted over to the little iPod docking boombox to one side of the table and switched on some soft jazz.

"Shit, we won't be able to hear now!" Liz swore.

"Nah, we're good. I had Star plant a mic under the table," Kilik grinned as he fiddled with the laptop to zoom the camera closer in on the table.

As they returned their attention to the monitor, Soul had taken a seat across from his meister. who was eyeing him with a face that kept shifting between skepticism and awe before finally settling on something more neutral.

"So?"

"Well, if you wanna lift the cover, there's dinner. I, uh, got some pasta delivered from that fancy place downtown you wanted to try." He lifted his own cover to illustrate the point, which had some sort of intricate looking noodles in whitish sauce underneath.

"Soul…" It was her warning tone again, the one she had given him already twice that day. It was accompanied by a loud rumbling sound and a gasp of "Patti, I thought you ate!" by Liz and a round of "shhhhhh!" from everyone else, including Kid, who had seemingly gotten past whatever was holding him back, since he was now crowded close behind Patti, eyes glued to the small monitor.

"I did! It just looks _really_ good," Patti whined, but got nothing else out because Soul was talking, and Liz put her hand over her sister's mouth with a loud "shhhh," which earned her a further round of "shhhhhhh!" from the rest of the room before everyone's attention was back on the screen.

"…so I thought it might be nice to have dinner, to, uh, show that I appreciate you. As my meister, I mean…" he scratched the back of his head nervously again. "Isn't that what you do on Valentine's Day? Show your partner how much you appreciate them?" Maka went scarlet, her eyes flying from the face of her weapon to her food, which she had uncovered at some point.

"Um, I guess," she muttered, clearly confused, but not quite willing to gainsay him. She pointedly took a bite to keep from having to say more. Soul followed her example, and they ate in awkward silence for several minutes, both weapon and meister looking ridiculously uncomfortable.

"Well, this is going well," Liz muttered.

"Boooorrriiinnng!" Patti agreed.

"Calm down, people. My man Soul has more up his sleeve than this. Be a little fuckin' patient, "Black*Star responded, sounding almost offended.

"Whatever," Liz said, finishing with a yawn and picking at her nails as the view on the screen of two of her friends chewing methodically failed to retain her interest.

"I didn't realize that Italian place delivered," Maka finally broke the silence, and suddenly, all eyes were glued to the screen again, the closet hushed once more.

"Well, they don't, exactly," Soul admitted. "I may have called in a favor as the last death scythe." The last part he said quickly and quietly.

"Soul! You shouldn't be throwing your title around to—"

"Calm down," he put up his hand. "I was going to pick it up myself, but when the guy figured out who I was, he insisted, alright?"

"And the rest of this?" she waved her hand towards the table.

"Party rental place. Most people go out for this type of thing, so I actually got a discount." He shrugged. "You like it?"

"Um, yeah, it's nice, I guess," she said, eyes suddenly back down on her pasta. "Thanks," she mumbled, then took another bite.

"Cool, I'm glad you like it. You deserve it. Look, I know I suck at telling you this shit, but you're a good partner. So yeah, I'm glad." With that, he shoveled a bite into his own mouth and the awkward silence continued through the rest of dinner as they both cleaned their plates of pasta and polished off the bread basket.

The natives of Closet de Spartoi were getting restless again, having spent the last hour crammed into a tight space with very little to show for the effort, when Soul suddenly cleared his throat.

"So, uh, there's no desert since I know you made cupcakes and they're still at home, sorry about that."

"Oh, that's no problem!" she smiled, a genuinely happy smile. "I'm way too full for that anyway. It was really great! Does this mean we're going home to eat cupcakes and watch a movie like we usually do?" She seemed eager to resume some normalcy. "I picked up _Maid in Manhattan_. I thought that would—"

"Um," he interrupted. "I mean, we could do that, maybe, but I was thinking we could do something else first." He looked very, very fidgety, which had the closet collective at the edge of their proverbial seats.

"Like?" That skeptical look was back.

"Um, dance? Imeanonlyifyouwantto-" the last part was forced out in a mumbled rush.

Maka's eyebrows shot to her hairline as her face went scarlet.

"_You_… WANT… to dance?"

"Uh, if you'd like, I guess."

Soul's expression was so pained, so full of awkward embarrassment, that Black*Star snorted "smooth, dude, real smooth," under his breath as Patti offered up "Is he gonna puke? I think he's gonna puuuuke~!" and Kid just shook his head in something like sympathy. Kilik seemed about to say something as well, but Maka finally managed to stop biting her lip in thought and spoke again.

"Um, okay."

"Really?" It was Soul's turn to raise his eyebrows.

"Yeah, really. I mean, I'm always bugging you to dance, and you never want to, except in the black room… so if you want to, sure, let's dance. It'll be good for our partnership, right?" She smiled shyly at him and Soul returned the smile.

"Right," he agreed, standing up and moving around the table to offer his hand, which she took.

"Kilik, the camera!" Liz hissed.

"Got it." he said as he was already clicking keys on the laptop. The camera zoomed out as the pair walked closer to the boombox, then zoomed back in to focus on their new position. There was still soft jazz coming from the speakers, so the weapon and meister moved into position and began to sway slowly to the music. Their words were harder to hear so far from the mic, but nonetheless audible.

"You still suck at this you know," Soul was grinning down at his partner. She smacked him playfully on the arm, but smiled back.

"Yeah, I know. I'll try not to murder your toes."

"You'd better," he scoffed. "I need those."

"For what?" It was her turn to scoff. "Lazing around on the couch?"

He chuckled. "You'd be surprised how much work it is to laze properly."

"I'm sure," she said dryly, but the smile remained.

Their banter trailed off into a more comfortable silence, each seeming to enjoy the dancing, the close proximity. The song changed a few minutes later to something slower, and Soul subtly shifted his dance partner closer, his chin practically grazing her forehead. She had slowly, so slowly, allowed her head to rest on his shoulder and they remained that way for a while.

"See?" Liz breathed from within the closet. "I FUCKING TOLD YOU!"

"Quiet down, geez. It's not like we weren't all totally fucking aware." Black*Star rolled his eyes. The look of contentment on both weapon and meister, their soft smiles as they thought they were alone, were absolutely telling.

"Do you think, perhaps, we've seen enough?" Kid, who had been uncharacteristically silent even for him, finally cut in quietly.

"No!" most of the group chimed in, except for Tsubaki, who offered. "Maybe Kid-sama is right. This seems very… _intrusive._"

Kid nodded, adding, "clearly, you have done what you meant to do and—"

"Like hell we have," Star cut him off. "This is the type of touchy feely shit they_always_ do and claim is totally normal. I wanna make damned sure we don't have to take matters into our own hands."

"And just how, pray tell, would you manage that?" the death god asked drily.

"I've got a plan b, dude. I always have a plan b. Now shut the fuck up and watch, I think—" He snapped his mouth shut as Maka's voice came through the speakers.

"…is nice, isn't it?" the scythe meister was saying. She had raised her head from her weapon's shoulders to look up into his eyes.

"Yeah," he agreed, and the fond look he gave her was so obvious that every girl in the room squealed in delight.

"Fuck, Soul man, you are so damned pussy whipped and you aren't even _getting any_," Star murmured, earning a sharp look from his weapon. The blue-haired meister just smiled somewhat sheepishly. "Well it's true…" he mumbled.

"Shut UP, man," Kilik snapped. On the screen, Soul had pulled Maka closer and was murmuring something as he rested his chin on the top of her head, her face against his chest.

"…do this more often."

"I'm not the one who never wants to dance."

"Just don't like to put on a show. This is different," he insisted.

"Yeah, I guess it is," she conceded, burying her face closer into his chest. Soul's arms seemed to tighten around her even further, his own face buried in her hair.

"You gotta admit, our boy does have game when he decides to show up," Kilik finally said after the pair on screen had gone silent for several moments.

"If he _really_ had game, he'd have planted one on her by now," Black*Star offered dismissively.

"Oh, like you did with Tsu, Casanova?" Kilik was raising an eyebrow.

"That's different. Tsu's my goddess. You don't rush a goddess—you let her come to you." Tsubaki actually snorted.

"What?" he looked at her with a hurt frown.

"Nothing, nothing," she smiled conciliatorily, but he was still looking at her expectantly, so she explained, her voice mild. "It's just, don't you think Soul thinks the same way? And that, if I hadn't finally kissed _you_, you'd still be in just the same place he is?"

"I—no—"

"Um, _duh_," Patti laughed. "You two are both hopeless idiots, _hello_. Mr. Giraffe has smoother moves, and he's made of paper." She rolled her eyes, still snickering. Kilik and Liz joined in, and Black*Star just groaned.

"SHUT UP, ALREADY. GODS DO THINGS IN THEIR OWN TIME! And anyway," he quieted slightly. "The music stopped." And it had, though for the moment, Maka and Soul were still dancing in the silence, lost in their own little world.

"This might be the sweetest thing I've ever seen," Liz said with an odd little smile while Patti made vomiting motions behind her, causing Black*Star to snort.

"Is _this_ enough?" Kid drew the eyes of the group, but he was forgotten quickly when Kilik motioned to the monitor.

"They stopped dancing."

All eyes, even Kid's, returned to the screen, where Soul and Maka had finally pulled apart.

"No more music," Maka said softly as she looked up her partner.

"I could fix that."

"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow coyly.

"Yeah, I mean…" the neck scratching was back, signaling the return of nervous Soul. "One of the reasons I decided to do this here was, uh, because there's a music room. With a piano. And you're always wanting me to play, so—"

Maka was grinning widely. "You'll play—for me?"

"Well, yeah. That was sort of the point. I mean, I've been playing more anyway, but it's been a really long time since I've played for you, and I know how much you like it, for whatever reason, so I thought—"

"That would be great!" she said enthusiastically, grabbing his hand and tugging him after her. "Let's go!"

Soul stared after her with a slight headshake as he was towed along off screen.

"SHIT!" Liz swore.

"Don't worry, I've got this," Kilik smirked over at her, fiddling with the laptop. The second screen, which had been blank, suddenly lit up to show the empty music room complete with baby grand piano, while a third screen was zoomed in on the piano itself.

"How'd you—"

"Know? Star caught Soul making sure it was in tune, and we put two and two together," he shrugged.

"Have I told you lately that you're awesome?" Liz grinned at him.

"Nope, so feel free."

"You're awesome."

"I know," the pot meister agreed, fiddling with some keys on his laptop.

The closetgoers hushed again suddenly as tapping was heard from the speakers, signaling the approach of Maka's heels, and shortly after, both she and Soul came into view in the music room, Maka still tugging her weapon along until they neared the piano.

They stopped, and Maka turned to the scythe expectantly.

"Ready when you are," she smiled.

"Right…" he was anxious, hand going to rub his neck yet again, but nonetheless, he walked over to the bench and took a seat, lifting the fallboard and spreading his hands over the keys to try a few notes. He looked up at her with a nervous smile and then patted the bench next to him with one hand.

"Sit. It's your gift, after all," he said, turning his eyes pointedly to the keys. Maka obeyed, taking a seat on the bench beside him, and after a few deep breaths, Soul began to play. The music was nothing short of breathtaking. Rising and falling, ebbing and flowing, brief moments of crashing keys followed by light, hopeful notes.

"Wow," Maka breathed unheard, though the movement of her mouth was visible on the screen.

"Wow," various members of Spartoi echoed from their little room

The song lasted several minutes and Spartoi sat in stunned silence, their expressions of reverence a mirror to the look of the meister on the screen. Her weapon, for his part, had a look of intense concentration, but every so often, as the tone lightened into the highest register, he would glance at Maka and smile softly, eliciting a return smile and light blush. The music cast a sort of spell, the group in the closet unwilling or unable to look away. Finally, the piece trailed off into an end with a light flutter of high keys and he turned to Maka,

"That was…beautiful," she breathed, her face a mask of awe.

"That was you," his gaze was intense, his forehead shiny with the sweat that signaled his recent exertion; he always put everything into his playing. The camera hidden on the ceiling above the piano was doing its job, focusing in on their faces, and the entire closet cadre was hushed with expectation as meister and weapon held each other's eyes under the camera's knowing gaze.

"Soul," Maka said softly, turning to him and reaching her hand up to touch his cheek softly. He leaned into her touch but said nothing. "Why did you do this?"

"I told you," his voice was also soft. "I wanted to show you how much I appreciate you." His eyes flashed briefly with something like embarrassment again. "I mean, as a meister."

"This isn't the type of thing weapons do for their meisters, Soul," Maka's eyes never left his and he seemed equally trapped by her green-eyed gaze.

"I…" whatever else he was about to say was lost as their faces slowly gravitated towards each other. Their eyes closed as they let that gravitational pull take over, lips meeting lips in a soft, hesitant kiss.

Fortunately for them, they couldn't hear the cheer that went up from the utility closet at the contact, or it would have been broken off rather quickly. Black*Star actually fist pumped, Liz and Patti high fived, followed by Liz and Kilik repeating the motion, and even Tsubaki and Kid were grinning from ear to ear.

"Harvar and Ox fuckin' missed out!" Star declared with a shit-eating grin. "_I don't need to see that,_" he said in a too high-pitched imitation of the spear meister. "Fuckin' loser, dude."

"I'd say Kim and Jackie missed out, too, but I have this odd suspicion they might be having more fun in Vegas." Liz smiled knowingly.

"Shhh—look! Sissy, sissy, look!"

All eyes refocused on the screen, where the weapon-meister pair had pulled closer together. Maka was practically in her scythe's lap, her hands tangled in his hair, and Soul's arms were tight around her. Their faces were angled, their kiss skirting further and further away from the realm of PG.

"We _definitely _should not—" Kid intoned.

"SHUT UP!" Everyone else but Tsubaki shouted, and the Shinigami just shook his head, though his eyes didn't leave the screen.

Before the kiss could cross over into clear use of tongue and roving hands, the two pulled apart, foreheads together, panting.

"That was…" Maka began.

"Nice," Soul finished for her.

"Yeah," she agreed.

"We should do that more often, too," the meister said with a shy little grin.

"Definitely," her weapon agreed, his grin more predatory as he pulled her closer with a little squeak on her part to kiss her again. _That_ kiss definitely strayed into the use of tongue, and lasted several minutes before they, once again, pulled apart.

"We should probably get home before one of the professors finds us and kicks us out," Maka said with something like regret in her voice as she got up from her place in Soul's lap and stretched, eyes closing for a moment, leaving her oblivious to her weapon's hungry gaze roving up and down her lean frame. Spartoi was less oblivious, however, and Black*Star chuckled.

"My man is gonna be tryin' to get him some later, I'll bet," before Tsubaki elbowed him to shut him up. "Just sayin'," he muttered.

"SHHHH!" The rest of the closet collective hissed.

Soul was getting up and stretching himself. "Yeah, probably," he said finally. "Though, you know," the scythe suddenly looked thoughtful. "There's one thing I don't get."

Maka turned to him with a blank look. "What's that?"

"Well, um," the weapon looked hesitant.

"What is it, Soul?" She was getting impatient now, her mood shifting as she seemingly sensed his trepidation.

"It's just—and don't get me wrong, I'm glad we did this, really glad, but that thing you said about weapons not doing this type of thing for their meisters?"

"Yes?"

"Well, uh, that's not true, right?"

"What do you mean?" Her patience was gone, her suspicion rising. The tension was palpable, both in the music room and the utility closet.

"Well, um, it's tradition, right? In Death City? To, you know, do something special for your meister or weapon for Valentine's Day? Look, I _know_ I totally screwed it up for most of our partnership, but—"

"_What the hell are you talking about?"_ Maka was definitely annoyed now, one high-heeled foot tapping impatiently against the parquet floor.

"Um," he ran his hand through his hair, nervousness graduating into agitation. "Weapons and meisters. They make a big deal for Valentine's Day, like Kid taking Patti and Liz to Cancun, and—"

"Soul," his meister said, clearly trying to keep her voice even and not snap. "That is _not_ normal. Partners _do not _do those types of things on Valentine's Day. Some partners do little things, like people might do for their parents or good friends, but they don't—they don't…" she trailed off, reddening. "Is _that_ why you did all that?" Her voice was tight, controlled.

"Uhhh…." His hand was raking through his hair again.

"Who gave you the idea that this is what weapons do for their meisters?"

"Uhhh…" He seemed unable to use coherent language at this point, his meister's livid face at the center of his world.

"WHO. TOLD YOU. THAT YOU SHOULD DO THIS?"

"Uhhhh, well, Star was—"

"BLACK*STAR!" She shrieked, her eyes going glassy for a moment, before she turned on her heel to speed from the room.

"Oh, fuck," Star muttered from his place by the screen. "I think—"

"SHHH!"

Maka had turned around again before she made it off camera, fists clenched, to face her clearly confused weapon, taking in several calming breaths.

"I'm not mad at you. I had a really, _really_ good time. But before we can go home and watch that movie, and I _do_ want to go home and watch that movie, I have an assassin—" her eyes went glassy again for a moment, and then she shook her head slightly "—no, make that half of Spartoi and a newly minted death god, to kill." She smiled sweetly at her weapon before that smile became dangerous, then hurried out the door. Soul just stood there, dumbfounded, staring after her for a few moments, shaking his head. Then, a moment later, his own fists clenched, his mouth flattened into an angry line, and he growled "Fuckin' Star, I'll kill him myself," before he also hurried out of the room.

The closet collective stared at the empty screen for several moments before Star finally broke the silence.

"Uh, guys? I'm pretty sure Maka's on her way over here to kill us, so we should probably scatter."

"We have two minutes," Kid agreed. "Probably less. Liz, Patti?" The two pistols transformed into his hands and he summoned Beelzebub and sped out of the room, likely to hole up in the death room.

"I'll just leave this stuff here for now," Kilik said, hurrying away himself, leaving behind Tsubaki and Black*Star.

"Uhh—Tsu?"

"I did warn you," she shook her head, but transformed into his waiting hand. He ran out into the hall, using every ounce of his godly speed to high tail it out of there.

In an unfortunate turn of events, at least, unfortunate for the fellowship of the closet, Soul caught up with Maka at the utility room shortly after Black*Star had fled and, as they saw the equipment and the view the cameras held, their joint displeasure spurred them into further action. Drawing on every ounce of their collective power, they hunted down their far-flung quarry. Maka chops were had by all in abundance that fateful night, and by the time the anger of both death scythe and meister was spent and they collapsed onto their living room couch, their dirty work done, both were exhausted.

Even still, they curled up together and fed each other cupcakes and snickered at the ridiculousness that was _Maid in Manhattan _and ended the evening late with a lingering goodnight kiss that promised far more like it in the future. In spite of everything, neither of them could regret their night, and both agreed it had been one hell of a Valentine's Day.


	2. Spontaneous Human Combustion

**A/N: This is my Secret Valentine fic for Khaleesimaka—she wanted SoMa fluff, so SoMa fluff she shall receive! It's essentially a College AU. Thanks to Ilarual and rebornfromash for the eyes.**

**I have decided to just make My Angry Valentine a collection for the holiday seeing as I wrote a few of these this year. Hum Hum. **

* * *

><p>It wasn't supposed to happen this way. They had agreed, they would go to college together and get an apartment together because while they might not always get along, while in truth he was one of the most obnoxious human beings on the planet, she knew him and trusted him and knew he had her back. Maybe they weren't going away for school, but they could at least get out of their parent's houses.<p>

It worked out all of one semester before Blake (though he still went by Black Star, the nerd) declared he was moving in with Tsubaki, his girlfriend of three months. Yet, he had insisted he had the perfect replacement lined up to take his place, and Maka had reluctantly agreed to let him handle it because it was easier than having to listen to him bellow about how she should trust her god.

Worst mistake of her life, that.

So now here she was at the dawn of a new semester facing Soul "Eater" Evans on her doorstep with a box in his hands and a blank look on his face. She didn't know why they called him the Eater and, quite frankly, she had no interest in knowing, just as she had no interest in having him, _him _of all people, as a roommate.

Stupid asshole Black Star.

Maybe if she played dumb…

"Can I—help you?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah, this shit's heavy," he groused, muscling past her into the apartment to plop the box in the middle of the living room.

"Um why, exactly, are you putting a box in the middle of my living room?" She continued with the act because while she knew Star had procured a replacement, she'd never been told _who_—seemingly with good reason.

He frowned at her, his blank look disappearing. "Because if I'm gonna live here, I'm gonna need my shit?"

"Riiiight," she said then sighed. "Star said he'd found a good guy to take his place—didn't figure on it being_ you_." The distaste in her voice was palpable. She didn't know Eater well, but what she did know made her stomach turn.

Star had taken a shine to him when they met the first day of classes and they'd become fast friends—which meant he hung out at their apartment a lot, and he went out with their little group a lot, and Maka, quite frankly, couldn't stand him.

For one, he was always—and by always she meant every time they saw each other—insulting her. Pigtails, bookworm, and worst of all, tiny tits. As if her—her _breasts_ were any of his damned business! He also constantly told her she read too much, she was a nerd, she should get out more—every time they met, it seemed, he would have something negative to say. And she tried to ignore him, she really did, but she stupidly took the bait every time and would waste her night arguing with him when she wanted nothing to do with him! Plus—_plus_— there was also that whole ridiculous following of his. One semester in and he already had a reputation as a ladies man. There were countless girls who drooled over him; it was like her gross papa all over again!

He hadn't responded to her bit of rudeness, just shrugged and, rigging the door to stay open, left the apartment. A few minutes later, he appeared with another box and Maka sighed again as he plopped it into the middle of the room. Well, if Star had sublet his room to this asshole, then she supposed she was stuck with him for the rest of the semester before she could work something else out for next year. She may as well help.

As he made his way out of the apartment again, she followed and, on the threshold of the stairs he turned, eyebrows raised. "Where are you off to?"

"To help you, dumbass. The quicker you get your stuff in, the quicker you can go put it in your room and get the hell out of my hair."

"Duly noted." He grinned at her sharply, and she hate hate _hated_ how it made her stomach flip. She loathed him—her stomach was a bloody traitor.

She was so going to nut punch Star for this mess.

He had a small truck downstairs she'd seen before, though she couldn't recall when or where, and there were several more boxes, a mini fridge, a mid sized flat screen, and a ridiculously oversized stereo. They took a few trips to haul it all up, and then move it from the living room to Blake's old room. Apparently, her new roommate would be taking over Star's bed seeing as he no longer needed it. Since Maka was well aware of what her previous roommate had been doing in said bed of late—thin walls were a bitch—she helpfully advised that he flip the mattress since _no one_ deserved to deal with that, not even Eater.

He raised his eyebrows again and she shrugged. "Before he moved in with Tsubaki last week, she and Black Star spent a lot of time in his room."

Her look of distaste must have spoken volumes because his own face twisted in disgust. "Right then. Lysol, steam cleaner rental, and flip the mattress. Got it."

"if it's any consolation, Blake never flips it. He's way too lazy. And the mattress was new when we moved in."

"Blake?" He looked confused.

"Black Star's real name," she offered flatly.

"Oh, yeah. Forgot he had one. Never heard anyone actually _use_ it before." He scratched the back of his neck, his face unreadable. "Anyway, thanks for the heads up—and uh, for helping with my shit. I appreciate it. And, well, I know I'm not your first choice as a roommate, but—"

"Look," she cut him off. "Just—make sure you pick up after yourself and don't hog the bathroom and it should be fine, okay? You do your thing, I'll do mine, and that's that."

"Yeah, sure," he said with a small nod, face still blank, unreadable.

"Great. Have fun unpacking." And with that, she turned on her heel to seal herself in her own room. Hopefully, he could manage to follow her very scant rules and they'd survive each other until the end of the semester.

Of course, she should have known she'd been hoping for too much. This was Eater she was talking about, after all.

The very next morning, his boxers were on the bathroom floor when she went to shower. _The very next morning. _Maka definitely should have known. Using the business end of the plunger to shuffle them onto, the offending item hanging haphazardly from the rubber, she marched to his room, kicked the door twice to a groan of "what the FUCK?" and then, opened it to march inside. He was sprawled out on his newly disinfected bed, covers kicked off, shirtless, with a morning tent pitched prominently in his sleep pants, blinking up at her blearily with a decided scowl plastered to his face.

She quickly averted her gaze, feeling her face go hot, as she screeched, "Cover up you—you—_perv_!"

"'M not the one who came barging into someone else's bedroom," he grumbled sleepily, but she heard the rustle of covers and, risking a glance, noted a blanket was now over him and he was sitting up, glaring at her. She chose to ignore the decided rise of the covers in his lap, meeting his glare with her own.

"What—is this?" she practically growled, waving the plunger and boxers like a makeshift flag.

"Uh, my shorts. And the plunger?" His face was maddeningly blank in an instant.

"And what." She didn't miss a beat. "Were your underwear doing on the bathroom floor?"

"Uhhhhh." He scratched the back of his neck.

"Next time." She swung the plunger, heaving the boxers into his face. He scowled as they fell into his lap. "Use your damned hamper."

"Whatever." He shrugged, blank expression returning. He looked her up and down and she suddenly remembered she was clad only in a thin tank top and boy shorts and couldn't repress her flush. "Anyway, tiny tits, you should be_thanking me_. Probably the closest you've ever been to a guy's shorts." He smirked at her then, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Ugh, you are so _gross!_" she shrieked and, grabbing up a book from his desk behind her, hurled it at his head, hard, before spinning on her heel to exit the room with a loud slam of his door. His yelp of pain was satisfying as she settled back into her own room, though it couldn't last. If _this_ was how things were going to be, it was going to be a long, _long _semester.

—-

The next day was Monday and classes started.

Their interactions continued very much like that first morning for several days as the semester actually began. He would leave his crap on the floor or his dishes in the sink or drink from _her_ milk carton, and she would yell and throw things at him and call him names, and he would shrug her off and make snide remarks and cause her to storm off and lock herself in her room.

After three days of this, she grew tired—her classes this semester were_ tough_—so on Wednesday, Maka started quietly picking up his little messes and avoiding him entirely. It just… wasn't worth it, she finally decided. On Thursday, the messes escalated: a sink full of dishes, clothes everywhere in the bathroom, his shit strewn in the living room. She picked it up, said nothing, continued to avoid him.

On Friday, when she didn't awaken to a bathroom strewn with dirty clothes and a sink full of disgusting dishes, she was shocked, puzzled, but not displeased. She went to class, came home, and shut herself in her room, still wishing to avoid him. Best to avoid him, to keep their interactions, and therefore, her stress, minimal.

When she heard the knock on her door shortly after he got home she almost jumped out of her skin. Her new roommate had never, not once in a week of living here, come to her room.

Decent enough in a tank top and pajama bottoms, her hair slung in pigtails, Maka called out, "Yes?"

"Can I, uh, come in? Just for a sec? I don't like talking through the door." The last part was mumbled, but she still caught it.

"If you must—just make it fast. I'm reading." It was the truth—she had to finish_Mansfield Park_ for Monday.

The Eater opened the door slowly, carefully, before shuffling inside. She noted he had changed into loose sweat pants and a tshirt, and tried not to notice how he managed to look hot even in loungewear; the man was stupidly good looking in spite of, or maybe even_ because of_, his odd coloring and features.

His red eyes looked past her as he cleared his throat. "So, uh, I realize I've been sort of an ass about—um—everything. So I sorta bought you dinner—hope pizza with pepperoni is okay. And I thought, if you aren't doing anything, maybe we could watch a movie. Um, together. I mean." He looked nervous. Why did he look so _nervous_? Hell, his fidgeting was so bad it was starting to make_ her_ nervous. "If it's cool with you." He ventured to meet her eyes for the first time, and though his expression itself was habitually blank, his eyes looked almost pleading.

She held his gaze for a moment, considering, then nodded slowly; if he was going to hold out an olive branch, well, far be it from her to torch it. "Alright, but only if you make popcorn."

"You got it, Tiny—" her small smile slipped into a glare. "—er, sorry, _Maka_." It was the first time she could recall him actually using her name, and the way he said it was so—well, it was nice not to be called tiny tits or pigtails or bookworm, anyway.

"Good." She smiled sweetly at the small victory. "Let's watch a movie."

And so, they did. And it was actually—not unpleasant. Pizza was good, he refrained from giving her shit so she did the same, and when he wasn't being a dick, he had a caustic wit that, directed at the rom com he'd let her choose, was more entertaining than the silly film could ever be.

She found that she was actually enjoying herself and, when he suggested they make Friday nights movie night halfway through, she agreed before she even knew what she was saying.

Maybe—maybe it would help them get along better, make the semester as roommates a little more bearable. Maybe.

—-

What really surprised her when she considered it the next day, was that Soul (because if he was going to use her name then she should do the same) would slate a universal party night to spend with her every week. What surprised her more was that he spent the next night home playing video games and, when he asked if she wanted to play, she agreed. The look of complete shock on his face when she wiped the floor with him at Assasin's Creed was truly satisfying.

The trifecta of her surprise came when he kept picking up after himself and continued his self imposed moratorium on insulting her. They started eating dinner together, studying together, hanging out together on weeknights. And as it turned out, Soul wasn't so bad when he wasn't insulting her. Actually, she sort of enjoyed having him around, enjoyed his sense of humor, enjoyed how he could surprise her and even challenge her. Enjoyed how his smirk made her stomach flutter, how his rare, genuine smile made her feel warm.

How stupid. He was still the Eater, hearts desire of a hundred girls. That didn't change just because they'd watched some movies.

And yet—Maka hadn't seen him with a girl—he hadn't gone on any dates. Was he toning it down for her? He must be, hoping to avoid conflict

Well, that was silly.

She would have to do something to rectify that, let him know he didn't have to walk on eggshells around her; common courtesy was all she asked, not complete abnegation of his social life.

"You know," she began casually one Friday night as they watched some terrible action flick that had been his choice. Her legs were draped over his lap and Maka marveled that after just a month living together they were this comfortable. "You don't have to stay in with me all the time. You can go out."

Soul turned to look at her, eyebrows raised. "You wanna go out?"

"_HUH_?"

Her own eyebrows went up.

"I mean, if you wanted to, we could." He rubbed the back of his head, averting his gaze.

"I—I—we—I—just meant you could take a girl out. Go on dates, you know? There are a lot of—"

"Nah." He shook his head, eyes moving back to the movie. "Not my thing. Rather stay in."

"Oh, ok," she said quietly, her heart racing because he seemed so—but why did she even _care_? "I just, uh, figured. I mean a lot of girls like you, and your nickname_ is_ Eater."

That caught his attention, and his resulting frown was puzzling as he turned his eyes back on her. Shouldn't he be proud? Cocky?

"You do know _why _Star calls me Eater, right?"

"Um, no?" Maka managed, voice too high as she felt her cheeks go red.

He sighed. "Well, you know Star, why do_ you_ think he calls me Eater?"

She felt her flush deepen as she just shook her head vigorously and squeaked out, "Because he's disgusting?"

"Nooooo," Soul laughed, rolling his eyes. "Because we met at a fucking ghost pepper wing eating contest the first day of last semester. I beat him, and he joked they should call me Soul Eater with teeth like that." He bared a mouth full of too sharp canines for emphasis. She never had understood why his teeth were so—so _odd_—though she found it more than a little intriguing. "Stupid name stuck. I like it better when you call me Soul, and I'd rather the pack of idiots you mentioned not call me at all."

"Oh," she said softly. His reply was a shrug as he turned his attention back to the movie. "But," Maka continued. "Valentine's day is tomorrow, right? Aren't you going to go out then? I mean, isn't that—"

"Why?" he surprised her with his interruption as he turned to look at her again. "Are _you_?"

"Going out for Valentine's Day?" she scoffed with a barking laugh. "Shyeah, no, no thanks. Dumb commercial holidays devoted to something as fake as true love aren't my thing."

"And you think they're _mine_?" he said, eyebrows raised.

"Uh, maybe—not. I guess." She looked down at her hands. "It's just, so many girls probably asked you, or whatever, right? It's not like anyone would ask me."

"One," he said, holding out his hand to tick off a finger. "I already told you I'm not interested in the goth squad. Two." He ticked off a second finger. "That's just bullshit that no one would ask you. And three." He ticked off a final finger. "Didn't you just say it's not your thing? So someone asking you or not asking you is sort of moot, yeah?"

Maka let out a sigh, because he was right, but he was also wrong—just because she didn't believe in love, and just because it really was a stupid commercial holiday didn't mean it wouldn't be nice to at least be asked. "Yeah, you're right."

They dropped the subject for awhile, focused back on the movie, though Maka's mind was still swimming in thoughts of how much Valentine's day sucked, how much she loathed watching people get all kissy and disgusting because it was all so much shit, and by the time the movie ended, she was fairly stewing in her own discontent.

When it was over, she got up to see to the empty popcorn bowl and soda cans and he followed her into the kitchen to help, surprising her. As they took care of a few stray dishes, her washing him drying, he finally surprised her again with a question.

"You really think it's all bullshit?" His eyes were on the dish he was drying.

"Well, yeah, Valentine's day is about how many roses they can sucker—"

"Not that," Soul cut her off, waving a dismissive hand. "I mean, the whole love thing."

"Well," Maka said slowly. "Yeah, I do. It's an illusion, all hormones and proximity. It never lasts."

He nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "So what about Star and Tsu? You think that's just—"

"Hormones and proximity? Well, yeah. I mean, they 'love' each other now, sure, but what do you think happens in five years? Ten? Fifteen? It never lasts, Soul. Never." Her own family was a burning testament to that universal truth. Her own father claimed to love her mother while also 'loving' anything that moved; it was all bullshit.

He hummed his reply. "Can't say, but I'm pretty sure there are people who last. Not many, because let's face it, most people are assholes to begin with, but some. My grandparents really loved each other. And what about Star's parents? They've been together—well, long enough to have raised that idiot, right? Spent a week with them last break, and maybe I'm not the most observant fucker out there, but those two clearly love each other. And I know you grew up with them, so you have to know it, too."

She sighed again. "So maybe it happens—rarely. But just because it happens once in a blue moon doesn't mean much. I mean, spontaneous human combustion happens, too, but chances are it won't happen to you or anyone you've ever known, so what can it possibly matter? You certainly can't live your life in fear of exploding. Love is the same way. Sure it happens, but the chances the real thing will happen to you are so astronomically low, it's akin to not existing at all, so why put any stock in it?"

"I guess," he said with a shrug. "Though that sounds pretty damned self-fulfilling."

"Maybe. Or maybe it's just not worth the risk for a one in a million chance at something real."

"What is it they say? No pain no gain?"

Her response was a shrug of her own, and they finished the dishes in silence. As Soul moved to put away the last dish, he turned to her again, and his face was almost uncharacteristically thoughtful. "So you plan to spend your life alone?"

"Didn't say that," Maka said with another shrug. "I may not believe in love, but I believe in friendship and lust, so it's not like I won't have people around. I'm just not about to invest my whole soul into some delusion that will never end well is all."

"Ah. Good to know," he offered finally. "Anyway, if you're gonna be around tomorrow, wanna hang out again?"

"If you'd like," she said cautiously. "Maybe we can watch really cheesy rom coms and make fun of them together."

"Maybe," he said with that sharp grin that reminded her how real lust was, before she turned to retire to her room.

—

Maka awoke the next morning from a rather pleasant dream she couldn't quite recall, but that she was pretty sure involved her roommate, a bed, and very little clothing, to a light knock on her door.

"Uh," she muttered sleepily, sitting up. "What is it?"

"Can I come in?" Soul's gruff voice was muffled by the door.

"Mmmm—" she was in pajamas so it was safe enough anyway "—I guess?"

He didn't respond, just opened the door, and the first thing she noticed is that he was already dressed in dark jeans and a button up (a _button up_? Since when did he wear button ups?) and the second thing she noticed was the tray in his hands with a covered dish, cups, silverware, and a single red rose in a vase.

"Breakfast in bed, milady," her roommate said with a grin.

"Wh—what?" she stammered, confused. Maybe—this was a dream?

He set the tray down in her lap and stood back up. "Well, I figured if we're going to spend the day together, may as well give you the full treatment, see what all the fuss is about. You up for it?"

"I—uh—I mean we're not—" This was odd. Was he trying to hit on her, or…?

"Not the intimate stuff." Soul waved a hand. "Just, you know, the cheesy romance stuff. I mean, may as well try it once in our lives, right? Go through the motions, see if it's really worth it. So again, you up for it?" His red eyes were so full of—something, something she didn't know how to read—and her normally cynical, lazy roommate seemed so damned _determined_ that Maka found herself nodding in spite of herself.

"Great, eat your breakfast, then you can get ready."

"Ready?" She wrinkled her nose, confused and more than a bit wary.

"To go out. Got plans."

"Um, okay, I guess." She managed, which seemed to satisfy him because he turned and left, the door shutting softly behind him.

She had to admit, breakfast was delicious—belgian waffle with fresh strawberries and whipped cream, perfectly crisp bacon, hot tea—she couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten so well. Who knew he could cook? The most he'd done up until now was heat a box of mac and cheese. She savored it, still more than a little conflicted about the whole thing, but when she could nurse her lukewarm tea no longer, she gulped the rest and, with a sigh, set aside the tray to get out of bed.

She needed to get ready, but how ready was ready? Maka had no idea what he was planning, and she _could_ just ask but—well, it almost seemed against the spirit of the thing. Not that she wanted to be in the spirit of the thing. Soul was in jeans and a button up, so she'd take her cue from that. Flipping through her closet, she settled on a black skirt, ruffled white blouse, and purple cardigan. It would work. She completed it with black flats—heels were horrible torture devices she'd just as soon avoid. Leaving her hair down and smoothing on some lipgloss, she deemed herself presentable and, grabbing up her breakfast tray to return to the kitchen, walked out the bedroom door. It's not like it was really a date, or anything. Just a—whatever the hell he was doing. Probably screwing with her. Well, if he was, he was going to be one sorry bastard.

He was sitting at the breakfast table fiddling with his phone when she appeared in the kitchen. Standing up, her roommate shook his head. "I was gonna get that, but thanks. You look—" he looked her up and down "—really nice."

She hummed a reply and set the tray on the counter, figuring they could manage the rest of clean up later, then turned to him.

"So, what's the plan?" she asked.

"That's for me to know and you to find out," he said with a wide grin. She merely shrugged before following him as he grabbed his leather riding jacket and handed her a leather jacket of her own.

"What's—this?" she asked skeptically.

"My spare. You'll need it."

"For…?"

"Wearing? You'll be cold on the bike without it, and it's—"

"Wait," she cut him off. "You think I'm going to ride with you _on your motorcycle_? Oh no, hell no. Can't you—borrow Harv's truck again or something?"

"Nope. We've got somewhere to be, and it's my baby or bust. Thought you were fearless, Albarn. What happened to the Maka who whacked me with _Jane Eyre _for looking at her funny?"

"She's about to whack you with the phone book for being an idiot. I'm not—"

"Come on, please? It'll be fun, and I'll go slow if it'll make you feel better."

Her head told her to say no, but her mouth blurted,"Fine, I guess," and the smile that lit up his face in that instant made her stomach flip.

"Alright, then. Let's blow this popsicle stand. We've got a date to start!"

And with that, he grabbed her hand and tugged her out the door.

—-

Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at the gates of the Death City Botanical Gardens and Maka had to suppress a groan. He wasn't kidding about doing the full treatment, was he? The Botanical Gardens were world famous for their lush beauty, a favorite date spot, and since it was Valentine's day, absolutely packed. Soul parked his bike on a spare siding that wouldn't have fit a car since there wasn't a single actual spot left in the crowded parking lot.

In truth, Maka liked the Gardens—having grown up in the city, she knew them well, and on any other day, she might have enjoyed a visit. But today? The PDA alone was likely to make her vomit on her own shoes. As they walked towards the large, ornate wrought iron gates, Soul held out his arm and Maka eyed it warily, raising her eyebrows.

"We're giving the schmaltz the full college try, right? So?"

She sighed heavily and took his arm, and together they strolled into the gardens.

She wanted to stroll right back out. There were couples everywhere. Holding hands. Hugging. Kissing. Full on making out. Giggling and flirting and being absolutely nauseating. She really was going to vomit on her own shoes.

The further down the main path they walked, the worse it got. While the lush gardens, full of bushes and trees and flowers, were as stunning as always, they were far too covered in hormonal humans for her to really appreciate them. Upon spotting one couple against a shadowed wall who were practically having sex, Maka had had enough and, suddenly and inexplicably, she led Soul down a side path and, finally, into the a gap between some shrubs.

"Wha?" he looked at her, surprised.

"Well, I was thinking, since obviously this is the land of PDA—if we took up the right spot, we could just enjoy the spectacle. A little hard to actually enjoy the gardens when people are busy enjoying each other around every corner."

He laughed. "Yeah, it's pretty bad. But—look there—I don't think Ross and Rachel are having a very good Valentine's Day?"

Maka followed his line of sight and snorted. Not only did the couple in question, standing next to a large aspen tree, actually bear decent resemblance to the sitcom pair, but they were clearly bickering about something. "Wonder what's got her so mad?" she commented.

"Who knows?" Soul shrugged next to her. "He probably over starched her bra or some lame shit like that."

Maka snorted again, shaking her head. "Could be. Or could be that he left his underwear on the floor for the 12th day in a row."

"Wonder if she gave them back with the plunger?" he groused.

"One can only hope," she grinned at him, then clapped her hands together. "Ooooo! You think that's something, check out grandpa and his little girl over there—looks like he's about to suck her face off."'

Her companion swiveled his gaze to where she was looking and chuckled, "I_really _hope he's rich."

"I really hope he's not actually her grandpa."

"Now that's just crossing a line."

Maka shrugged then grinned and Soul drew her attention to another couple. They went on that way for a good hour and a half, occasionally finding a new vantage point for their game, and she had to admit, she was having fun—even if it wasn't exactly in the way they were supposed to. Soul was good company, and this was like poking fun at a real life romcom writ large. When her 'date' finally pulled her from the willow tree they were currently sheltering under to make their way out of the gardens, she was almost disappointed—apparently, they had lunch reservations.

She was curious enough about what his idea of 'Romantic Valentine's Day Lunch' looked like that she didn't protest, but let herself be led back to the bike.

—-

Soul really must have been going for gross cliche, because they pulled up to the most typically romantic looking french bistro ever a short few minutes later. Maka had to admit, as they walked in and were shown to a corner table, that the place was cozy. It was also crowded, with a menu entirely in French. She puzzled over it because she didn't speak French, her frown deepening.

"Something wrong?" he said from across the table.

"Just—don't know what to order, is all." Like hell she was going to admit she couldn't read the menu.

"You might like the cheese souffle," he offered, but she shook her head.

"No, I'll figure it out. Just—mind your own menu." He shrugged as if to say suit yourself, and when the waiter came, she pointed to something called bouillabaisse and ignored Soul's cough and raised eyebrow, instead making a face when he ordered escargot. _That one_, at least, she knew to avoid.

After the waiter left, they began to chat idly about their time at the gardens and the utter silliness of it all, and again, Maka was reminded that with his caustic wit and ability to cut to the heart of things, he was fun to be around. In truth, she had grown to really_ like him_, and that was probably dangerous, but she had plenty of time to worry about that later. For now, she figured she'd earned enjoying this farce of a 'date.'

Her enjoyment was rudely interrupted as, twenty minutes later, their food was out and Maka stared down at hers in horror. Fish—it was allll fish. Maka absolutely hated fish. Her stomach turned as she eyed it and grabbed more bread from the basket instead, studiously avoiding looking at her roommate, who was eating his own dish with relish. As disgusting as her plate of gross looked, his was twice as stomach turning.

That hurling on her shoes thought from earlier was looking more and more possible.

Eventually, she figured she should at least appear to be eating, so she took up a spoon and took a bit of broth—it was _broth,_ how bad could it be? As the spoon hit her mouth, the warm liquid spilling over her tongue, she had to fight not to spit it out. It tasted like the devil's piss, like concentrated fish ass. Swallowing it roughly and ignoring her companion's look of concern, she took a large swig of her sparkling water and shoved more bread into her mouth, anything to erase that horrible taste. She almost wished she could wipe her tongue.

Trying not to look at the plate of vileness in front of her, her eyes moved to her companion, who was slurping down more of his sea snails from _hell no_. As this was even worse than looking at her own food, Maka focused back on the bread basket and her water, and they began to chatter idly again, though every time she looked at her roommate and saw his food, her stomach turned.

Thirty minutes and another bread basket later, the waiter finally, _finally_ took away the nauseating remnants of lunch, eying her untouched food with a mild frown. Soul soon after ordered them a chocolate soufflé, grinning at her protest of sharing dessert and insisting this was part of the whole package.

The soufflé turned out to be divine, and Maka tore into it with a relish born of sheer hunger. When, halfway through, he pushed the dish towards her and said he was full, she could have kissed him for his kindness, but was far too busy pillaging the crock of delicious to really consider it.

At least dessert was good.

Still, she wasn't sorry when they left not long after to stroll around the market district the restaurant was situated in.

—-

They spent a good bit of time just walking and window shopping, perused shops with books and music and knick knacks, and talked about the people and places and things they passed. Eventually, their talk drifted to school and their plans—he wanted to be a music teacher, maybe, though he wasn't sure, and she was thinking of going into law because her mama was a lawyer, though literature was her real love.

They passed by a little flower stall, and as Maka admired the arrangements, he surprised her by buying her a single yellow rose.

Yellow. For friendship.

Is that what he wanted? To be her friend? And why did that thought disappoint her, heart suddenly in her knees? This was just absurd.

She shook off the ridiculous thought and tilted her head in question at the offering. Soul looked almost nervous as he handed it to her, scratching the back of his neck as he spoke.

"Roses are part of the whole—" he waved his hand "—romance thing, right?"

"I suppose," she said with a small smile.

Friendship. She should definitely be happy with that.

Eventually, after a long while, he told her they needed to go, so they headed back to where he'd parked his bike and she was a bit disappointed when they pulled up in front of their apartment. It felt too soon for it to all be over, but she wouldn't dwell on it. As she made to get off, however, he stopped her.

"Stay there—just need to grab something," he said, and his expression was unreadable.

"But—"

"We agreed on the day together right? It's not over yet."

"A—alright," she nodded, confused and relieved and inexplicably nervous all at once.

Soul was gone less than ten minutes and returned with what appeared to be a picnic basket along with a bag.

A Valentine's Day _picnic_? Now that wasn't cliche. Still, Maka grinned at him as he approached and he grinned back.

"You really layered on the cheese with this whole thing, seriously. Most girls would eat it up,"

"But not you, eh?" His face was still blank, unreadable.

Her only response was a shrug because, yes, it was cheesy, but it had also been a heck of a lot of fun. Soon enough they were moving again, off to Soul knew where, and she had to wonder where exactly he planned to take her next.

—-

She shouldn't have been surprised when they drove right out of the city and into the desert. The sun would be setting soon, and they both struggled against the glare as they drove; Maka leaned down into Soul's back to shield herself and he grunted but didn't protest. Eventually, half an hour outside the city, she asked him to stop at a gas station and he did. After the lunch debacle and seeing him eat that plate of rankness, she was determined not to leave her stomach in her roommate's questionable hands, instead purchasing a veritable smorgasbord of complete junk—jerky and chips and soda, oh my! At least they wouldn't go hungry.

Five minutes minutes later, they were turning into a little used side road that wound its way up into a hilly portion of the desert, and ten minutes after that, they reached the entrance to a scenic overlook. Soul drove to it, parking the bike and fishing out bag, basket, and blankets from the saddlebag. He soon had the blanket spread out on a rocky outcropping. As Maka sat at his insistence, she looked down at Death City spread in the far distance, at the vast desert all around them, her breath catching because the view was absolutely stunning.

He sat beside her, fishing through the basket to lay out their next meal as he commented, "Nice, right?"

"It's—it's beautiful. How did you even _find _it?" Because Maka had lived here all her life and had never known this was here.

Soul shrug as he began to set out various meats and cheeses and fruit and was that wine? Oh yes, it was definitely wine. Finally he said, "Sometimes when I can't sleep or I need to think I just—drive. Helps clear my head."

"Well." She beamed. "I'm glad you drove here. It's perfect."

"Uh, thanks," he replied, running his hand through the back of his hair. "So there's—uh—food—"

"Wait, I've got some too!" she interrupted, dumping the contents of her bag to reveal her recent purchase.

He smiled and shook his head. "You didn't trust me?"

"Nope!" she said cheerfully and he laughed and grabbed a bag of Funyuns.

For awhile, they say in near silence, gorging themselves on junk and fruit and gourmet meats and cheeses, each sipping on their wine. The sunset was gorgeous, painting the sky in vivid pinks and peaches that streaked the blue yonder like a swipe of the fingers, delicate and ragged and completely breath taking.

When the sun disappeared behind the last horizon, she sighed, full and content, and leaned against him almost unconsciously as they watched the stars grow brighter with each passing minute, the sky being cast into ever increasing darkness. She didn't protest when he put his arm around her—it wasn't so very different from their time spent on the couch, and she figured there was little harm in an arm. The lights of the city twinkled below, and Maka thought she might be happy to live in this moment forever, with this view, this feeling of companionable silence.

She was startled from her reverie as he finally spoke, her eyes moving towards his now shadowed form on the blanket beside her.

"So what do you think?"

She turned her head to him, staring at his shadowed face. He was so close, with her tucked into his side, that she could feel his breath hot against her skin and shivered involuntarily.

"Was it worth it?" he added. "I mean, we were testing the cheesy romance thing. Does it pass muster?"

She bit her lip, then nodded. "It was—nice," she finally managed.

"Yeah, it really was, wasn't it?" Was he leaning closer? His face was _so near_ and his arms felt so warm and—and—she knew attraction was a thing, and clearly, very clearly, she was attracted to him, so—

She leaned her head just that little bit more forward and her mouth found his, hot and soft.

Oh god she had kissed him—was kissing him—and it was _nice_—and oh yes he was kissing back, and oh he was a good kisser, wow, and oh yes that was his tongue—

She shivered at the feel of it, at the spark of heat and sheer _want_ it ignited, and pulled away, panting, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, I'm so _sorry_, I—"

He was blinking at her, shaking his head, when he interrupted her rambling. "I'm not."

"What?" She blinked back.

"Sorry. I'm not. Not even a little. I've—uh—wanted to do that for months, actually." She wondered if she could see him better if he'd be blushing—she was. His arm had moved from around her but he was still close, and his words were swirling through her, strange and confusing.

"I—" She shook her head. _Months?_ How was that even _possible._

He took a deep, shaky breath. "Look, I—really like you, and I think you might like me too since you just, you know, kissed me and all. I—the truth is, I've sort of had a thing for you for a long time, since I met you actually, and when Star wanted to move out, I basically begged him to let me take his room so I could be close to you—and shit, wow, I did _not_ realize how fucking creepy stalker that sounds until I said it out loud." He shook his head, took another breath. "I mean, I'd been looking to get out of the dorms, too, it wasn't_ just_ that, but—fuck, _fuck_, I'm sorry, that was really creepy of me, sorry, shit. I swear, I fucking_swear _that'snothow I meant it, and I woulda been all over Star anyway since my roommate was a real ass, but the fact I'd be living with you—well—I just kept fucking it up whenever I saw you, and I wanted the chance to get to know you better and—shit—I figured at worst we'd keep butting heads, but maybe we could become friends and—yeah—"

He seemed to have run out of ramble, was just fidgeting nervously as she blinked at him, trying to process it. Soul liked her. He really_ liked_ her, enough that he had wanted the chance to be closer to her, to get to know her better.

The thought made her stomach flutter.

"I can, uh, take you home and-"

"I don't—I don't want to go home," Maka finally whispered. "I—I'm not mad, okay? I mean, yeah, hearing you wanted to be my roommate that much is a little weird but—you aren't a creep. You're not, I know that."

He let out a breath, long and deep. "So you don't hate me now?"

"No—I used to sort of hate you, to be honest, but I don't hate you now. In fact, I really—sort of—" she couldn't quite speak the words, so she let her lips speak for her for the second time that night. This time, the kiss was longer and deeper and had her whole being on fire, body and soul. She knew lust was a thing, and this was clearly what she was experiencing now, quick and hot and so very very_ right. _

He was the one to pull away this time. "So you like me?" he said quietly, cautiously, face still close.

"Yeah," she breathed, just wanting to kiss him more.

"I know—" he shook his head. "I know you probably think this is all hormones or whatever, and I can live with that, but—I know you aren't a coward, so uh,maybe we could try?"

"Try," Maka asked, confused again. "Try _what,_ exactly? Because we were just kissing pretty successfully, I thought." She felt bold, fearless, warm, willing to try just about anything he was up for at the moment.

"Yeah, try. The whole dating thing, you know? Because I'd like to." Soul leaned closer again. "And if you wanna call it friendship and lust, sure, do that. But I'm gonna hope it's more than that. I'd really like it to be more than that."

Her heart leapt and soared unbidden, and Maka knew it must be hormones, but in the moment she really didn't care, just wanted to bask in him. She nodded, breathed out "Yes—yes, let's try," and then kissed him again and yet again until they were both breathless and aching for more.

Neither willing to move, to part, they stayed to watch the sunrise.

Two months later, they started sharing a room.

A year later, she told him she loved him—he told her he loved her, too, had known it since the start.

Six years later to the day, they stood before a justice of the peace together, and as Maka Albarn spoke her vows to Soul "Eater" Evans, she thanked him for being her spontaneous human combustion, the one who made her believe in love.

No, it wasn't supposed to happen that way, but it had, and neither of them were sorry for it.


	3. The Valentine

A/N: This is late and was quickly done. It's silly.

* * *

><p>There is an card in her locker and she doesn't know what to make of it. The mountain of such cards that tumbles out as her partner opens his own locker is common, expected even. But this? It is February 14th, Valentine's Day, and the last thing in the world Maka expects is a large square envelope made of expensive looking pressed paper, her name on the front written in a hand so painstakingly neat it could pass for calligraphy.<p>

"What's that?" her partner asks with raised eyebrows as he leans against his own locker and eyes the paper in her hand. Soul has already unceremoniously dumped his own haul of perfumed envelopes, though she notices a few sealed boxes of chocolate under his arms. Candy always gets kept-waste not, want not.

"Not sure. Maybe a partner request." She does get them sometimes. Most people don't bother since she wields a deathscythe; why would she want another weapon? She does get some, though. Unlike Soul, she actually reads them all since someone took the time to write them, penning a polite refusal. It's not like hers are the gross proposals he often gets. No one is throwing themselves at her, though she has been asked on a date or two in person. She refuses those as well. Why should she date? She is perfectly happy as she is, thank you very much.

Maka flips the envelope, running her nail under the seam. The envelope is so nice compared to what she normally gets, more like one of the letters meant for Soul, and it's certainly odd it came today of all days. She might think someone put it in the wrong locker but for it being addressed to her, and as she pulls out a large, soft, heart shaped Valentine, she is even more convinced this must be a mistake. Soul clears his throat from her side and she glares at him.

"What?"

"What is it?"

"A valentine."

"Seriously?" he scoffs.

Her eyeroll is in place of the book she wants to bean him with. "Yes, seriously. What, just because you think I've got no sex appeal or whatever no one can find me attractive?" It's her turn to scoff. "I get asked out-I'm not hideous. Not everyone subscribes to the Soul Evans school of big boobs or bust."

"Wha-I never said-I mean-" His sputtering is admittedly gratifying. Sure it would be nice if he thought she was appealing, but she'll take showing him not everyone is so shallow over nothing.

No, that's wrong. He's not shallow, she knows that. He hasn't dated anyone, and it's not like the type of woman he has always claimed to prefer hasn't tried. Honestly, Maka doesn't know what he is, but it's still nice to feel like someone finds her attractive, even if it isn't the person who she wants to succumb to her admittedly minimal charms. Even if she's only going to have to turn them down because she's painfully uninterested in anyone else.

She sighs as she inspects the Valentine in her hand. The front says Be Mine? in large, fancy script. Flipping it, she finds a message written on the back:

_Meet me at the fountain in the center of Market Square at 5._

It is unsigned, and she doesn't recognize the hand. Strange.

"So?" Soul's voice startles her; he has moved closer to read over her shoulder and she feels guilty somehow or ashamed and _why should she feel either?_

"So what?" she snaps, her irritation less at him than at the feelings that have no right to plague her.

"So are you gonna go?" His expression is blank, revealing nothing. She might wish he cared-jealousy would be a welcome indication he felt something for her beyond their friendship-but of course he is as bored sounding as ever.

"Maybe." She shrugs, stuffing the Valentine back in her locker and closing it behind her. Pushing off the lockers to walk towards their next class, she hears her partner fall into step beside her, the barest hint of concern seeping through their soul link. There is more behind it, but he keeps it close. The concern is enough to give her pause. Why should he be concerned? She can take care of herself, and hell, isn't she entitled to an admirer or two when he has so many? She doesn't need his concern.

"Actually," she says as they near the classroom. "I think I'll go."

Ignoring the spike of his disbelief that clouds their link, Maka walks into the classroom, head held high.

Hours later and she is arguing with her weapon on the steps of the Academy, drawing the stares of passing students and teachers alike. There aren't many-school has been out for an hour-but it's enough that she knows Soul is uncomfortable. Good, let them all stare. Serves him right for sticking his nose where it doesn't belong.

"So you're going to, what, go on a date with-it could be _anyone_, Maka!" His voice is low but emphatic and it annoys her beyond measure. It's not _because_ he cares but _why_ he cares, acting as though she can't handle herself. She wishes he cared for other reasons, but he doesn't, and that annoys her, too-unfairly, maybe, but she never asked for his concern in the first place.

"It's none of your business, Soul, we've established that. Now if you'll excuse me-"

"At least let me take you on the bike." It's a plea, a last effort at exercising some form of control over a situation that isn't his to alter.

"No." It's firm, incontrovertible. "And don't wait up!" she calls over her shoulder. She doesn't mean it-but the renewed jolt of concern she feels from him is satisfying.

The market square is only a twenty minute walk from school and she relishes the slight cool of the desert evening in Winter. Her smug satisfaction of leaving her weapon behind fades as she goes, and Maka feels guilt and something like regret. Nervous anticipation churns hot and sick in her stomach. Whoever wrote this, they are about to be let down, and witnessing the disappointment of others has never been something she relishes. She knows first hand what it's like to have one sided feelings, but that doesn't change what she must do. Telling herself that doing it in person is a kindness, Maka steels herself as she approaches the fountain.

There are people there-the square is crowded-but most are couples. One stands out, however, tall, dark skinned, with long dark hair. Maka knows her, vaguely, knows her name is Kaya and that she is an EAT weapon, a pole axe, from the class down, though she is a year older. She smiles broadly and waves as Maka approaches. The girl is absolutely stunning, the object of the affections of dozens of boys and several girls Maka could name. And yet-she's here and now. _Why_?

"I'm so glad you came!" she says as Maka walks up to face her, her smile widening. It's breathtaking, and Maka can understand how so many are entranced by her even if she doesn't feel it herself. Not only does the girl have a lovely exterior, but a beautiful soul.

"Is this yours?" Maka asks as she pulls the Valentine from her bag.

The girl shakes her head once. "No, it's yours. That's why you're here, right?"

Maka can't stifle her sigh. "Yes." She is quick to head off any hope. "But only to return it. I appreciate it, but I really can't accept, I'm sorry."

The wide smile flips, and the frown is both deep and thoughtful as the girl studies her. "Why?"

It's a simple question. The answer is anything but.

"I'm not interested in dating." It's a well rehearsed response, used before for both rare suitors and concerned friends alike.

The frown deepens. Her eyes look so sad, so defeated that Maka wants to look away. She doesn't. She caused this pain, unintentionally though it was, so she will face it down. "It's _him_, isn't it?" The weapons voice is quiet.

Maka's mouth opens wordlessly in her surprise. She shakes her head. The other times, this was when they left. "Who?" she asks stupidly.

The eyeroll she gets in response is at least half earned. "Your weapon, who else? I'm not an idiot. But I also know he's never made a move and if he won't, why not give someone else a shot? You deserve someone who will make you happy. I could be that someone, I know I could. You've just gotta be willing to let me try."

At the mention, Maka is reminded that she feels her weapon's soul nearby, has for several minutes though she's been preoccupied. He's followed her. She feels his eyes on her and she is so torn. Maybe this girl is right, maybe someone else deserves a chance, but her heart won't allow it. It's stupid, so stupid, to refuse a chance at happiness with someone who shines so brightly, who feels so deeply for something that is an illusion, something that only she feels, but she must. Her heart is long lost and the idea of happiness with someone else is foreign, impossible. Her partnership with the one who owns her soul, it is enough because it _has to be. _There can be nothing else, not anymore, not for her.

She shakes her head and lets out a long breath. "I'm sorry, but I can't. I just-_can't_."

The girl nods. She looks both broken and resolved and Maka aches for her. "I hope he gets off his ass. You deserve to be happy."

He won't-they aren't like that, he isn't like that, not with her or anyone seemingly-but she nods anyway because she doesn't know what else to do. And then the other girl is gone, disappeared into the crowd, and Maka is left holding the Valentine that now represents courage unrewarded. The girl deserves better, and Maka is sorry she can't give her what she wants.

Sucking in several breaths, she walks to the edge of the fountain. "I know you're there," she says without turning around.

The deep sigh is close, only several feet back. Maka turns to sit and sees her weapon approaching. He sits beside her, bumping his shoulder casually with his own. "Hey."

"Hey," she replies. "You're supposed to be home. Didn't realize you were a stalker now."

"Not a stalker, just worried. And I know you can take care of yourself Maka, trust me, I know, but it doesn't mean you always have to. I'm your partner. 'S my job to look out for you."

She doesn't feel like arguing, especially when she can feel the affection rolling off him, so she doesn't. "Whatever."

"You okay?" he says after a short pause. Her response is a shrug. "Why'd you turn her down?"

Another shrug. "Not interested."

"Was she right?" His voice is soft, careful.

She snaps her head to look at him, stunned. "What?"

"She said you were-you had feelings for someone else." His face is blank but he's pink and his soul is cautious.

"You heard that?"

"I heard that. Deathscythe with sound manipulation, remember?"

"Oh. Yeah."

"So?"

"So nothing.

"You didn't deny it."

Her response is yet another shrug

"Is that a yes?"

"It's none of your business, I've told you that." She returns her gaze out to the crowd. His soul is so _guarded _that she doesn't know what he wants -why is he pushing this? It could ruin everything, ruin _them_.

"Pretty sure it's my business if you have feelings for me, too. Definitely want it to be my business." His voice is low, tense.

"Why are you pushing this?" She looks at him and it's him looking out and away now. "Why do you _care_ how I feel?" She can't help but think she missed something because she feels disappointment welling up in him unexpectedly. "Wait-did you say _too_?"

"I did." The annoyance turns to fear. He's still looking at the crowd.

"As in, you have feelings for me?"

It's his turn to shrug and she growls her frustration. His grin is nervous as he finally turns red eyes her way. "Turnabout is fair play."

"Oh, shove it, Eater and answer the damn question."

"What question?"

"Soul." Her tone is a warning and he sighs.

"Yes," his grin fades and his eyes are seeking. "Okay? Yes."

She nods and she feels sick and warm and confused. Is this happiness? She doesn't know. Soul has feelings for her, the same kind she has for him, and it doesn't make _sense_ because he's never shown it, but it is clearly so nonetheless and now she has no idea what to do.

"Okay." She marshals her bravery, steels herself, meets his searching gaze head on. "Me too, then."

The surge of warmth from him is all the answer she needs. Somehow they feel the same thing. It's so impossible and obvious and _how had she missed it_? She guesses they were both afraid. Maka isn't afraid anymore.

She moves her head over and up and kisses him, a soft, brief peck on the mouth. It's something she's wanted to do for years. The kiss is even warmer than she thought it'd be and his stunned, goofy smile is priceless as she pulls away and pushes the paper from her hand into his.

"Wha?" He looks down, surprised.

"Read it."

"Are you-giving me your used Valentine?"

She shrugs. "Message still stands. So?"

"Be yours? Already am, so yeah. How 'bout you?" He pushes it back at her.

"You're giving me a third hand Valentine?" She raises her eyebrows.

"Message still stands."

Her laugh is only a little giddy. "Then yeah. If you can stand my flat chest and all."

He makes a strangled noise, looking pained. "I was fourteen. _Fourteen_. Everyone's an idiot at fourteen. Even_ you_ were an idiot at fourteen." He eyes her warily. "You're never gonna let me live that down, are you?"

"Nope!" she sings out. "But I'll let you make it up to me." Her grin is so wide it aches as she moves in for a second kiss, a little longer, a little less chaste.

The next day, Maka finds Kaya, thanks her, and introduces her to Tsubaki. Years later, Maka and Soul attend their wedding.

The Valentine they frame, and it holds a place of honor in their bedroom. It had, after all, brought them together.


End file.
